


Pet

by Kalimyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Interspecies, Masturbation, Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalimyre/pseuds/Kalimyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, this is consensual tentacle porn.  The kinkmeme made me do it.  I have no regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pet

Mycroft subtly shifted his weight and tapped his finger on the armrest.  His face was calm and blank, as always.  His suit sat with perfect precision on his body; the waistcoat fitted smoothly over his abdomen and his trousers creased in a long, clean line from hip to ankle.  The low buzz of arousal burning in his belly sent a dart of heat up his chest and his nipples hardened into little peaks.  The fine woven cloth of his shirt rubbed over them as he breathed.  His toes curled in his shoes, where no one could see.

The driver signaled and took the next left.  Three more turns now.  Mycroft bit his tongue, keeping his mouth shut.  The sting was a welcome distraction.  He pressed his thighs together, squeezing his balls between them, and let his breath out in a slow, measured exhale.  His cock gave another sullen throb, stubbornly half-hard in his trousers.

Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft didn’t consider his body to be mere transport.  He took good care of it; he enjoyed the finer things.  His sheets were an exceptionally high thread count, his food was always fresh and well prepared, and he had a particular fondness for excellent bath products.  (This last was a jealously guarded secret.  Sherlock would never let him hear the end of it.)  When he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, he did not do so in half-measures.

Still, he was a busy man.  Sometimes he went for days or even weeks without any such indulgence.  And then he had days like today, when it all caught up to him and his body demanded rather loudly that he see to its needs.  The sweet thrum of arousal under his skin had started soon after his morning meeting and had stayed with him all day.  His well-cut suit hid the more obvious signs; his icy composure hid the rest of them. 

The driver took a right and slowed down as they entered a residential area.  Soon, now.  Mycroft licked his lips and laced his hands together.  He rubbed one thumb over the palm of his other hand.  The small touch was enough to send his skin prickling into goosebumps.  He swallowed and made another subtle shift in his seat.  The movement brought the inside of his trousers in firm contact with his cock and he clenched his jaw.  Just the thought of what awaited him at home was enough to make his heart race and a tingle of heat race down his spine. 

When they arrived, Mycroft allowed the driver to open the door for him.  He gave the man a polite nod and walked, smooth and sedate, up to his front door.  He did not hurry.  The day was mild, but sweat trickled down the center of his chest, hidden beneath his suit.  He didn’t fumble with the keys; his hands were steady and his face calm.  Nobody watching would have known a thing.  It was delicious, being so desperately aroused in public, right there in broad daylight, and nobody being the wiser.

When he got through the door, he locked it behind him and leaned back against the heavy wood.  His hand hovered over the crotch of his trousers, longing to adjust himself and relieve the pressure just a little, but Mycroft didn’t touch.  He had something else in mind.  Instead he walked through his clean, empty flat with an even stride.  His cock hardened further, rubbing eagerly against his pants, the material already sticky with pre-come.  He kept his hands at his sides, entered his room, and locked that door behind him as well.

Then, finally, he undid his belt and opened his trouser button.  With a push, the material slithered down his hips.  The cool air against thin, damp cotton of his pants made him shiver and when he looked down, he could see the visible outline of his cock straining at them.  He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment.  Then he finished stripping methodically, hanging each piece up.  His suit was meticulously arranged on the hanger and put away, his socks and shirt placed in the hamper, his shoes lined up next to the others in the closet. 

Dressed only in his pants, Mycroft crossed the room and opened his desk drawer.  He pressed the catch on the inside, and a panel in the desk flipped over, revealing a number pad.  He keyed in the combination.  On his wall, a painting slid up and a section of the wall behind shifted.  There was clear glass behind it, and Mycroft reached out, pressing his hand against the glass.  On the other side, something stirred.  There was a soft rustle, and then a pale peach coloured tentacle slid up the glass, reaching for his hand.

“Hello,” Mycroft murmured.  “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

Two more tentacles spread across the glass, probing around the edges.  A third, thinner tendril traced the shape of Mycroft’s fingers in a slow, deliberate stroke.  Mycroft clenched his other hand at his side to keep from touching himself.  He was fully hard now, just from the anticipation, and pulling himself out of his pants would be a tremendous relief. 

He moved his right hand over to the scanner beside the glass, and there was a hum as it read his fingerprints.  The machine hissed as the seal was released, and the glass panel slid to one side.  A tentacle darted out immediately to wrap around his wrist.

“Yes, shh, I know,” Mycroft soothed it.  He stroked the tentacle with his free hand.  The texture was soft and slick, something not quite like plastic and not quite like skin.  He tugged, and more tentacles reached out.  One eased around his thigh, and another was snug around his waist.  Several fine, quivering tendrils slid up his chest, probing curiously through the thin ginger hair.  Mycroft walked toward the bed, but by the time he was halfway there the tentacles were carrying him.  They were very strong.  It was dizzying and just a little bit frightening to be so casually lifted; he caught his breath and his cock twitched impatiently. 

They laid him down on the bed, and one trailed through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.  Mycroft turned his head and pressed a kiss to the tip, and it returned for more, tracing gently over his lips.  It tasted very faintly of sweet citrus, like a lemon candy.  Mycroft allowed his lips to part and it pressed in, stroking his tongue and curling around, tugging at him.  He sucked gently, and then harder, encouraging, as more tentacles stroked over his hips. 

The tentacles investigated his pants.  They poked at the waistband, then slid underneath, tugging at it.  The smaller ones, more clever, traced over the front as if scenting the material.  They wriggled in through the gap and wrapped around his cock.  Mycroft jerked his hips and moaned around the soft tentacle still in his mouth.  He pushed with his tongue, and it retreated obediently, allowing him to speak.  “Thought it would be a little puzzle for you,” Mycroft said.  “Next time I’ll leave the trousers on too.”

The tentacles went from peach to a dusky rose colour, and squeezed him carefully about the chest and shoulders.  It was almost an embrace and Mycroft put his arms around what he could reach and squeezed back.  He pulled one smooth curve to his face and let it stroke his cheek, then trail down his throat.  The three at his hips worked out the waistband and began tugging at it.  The ones wrapped around his cock had to let go so the pants could come down and seemed reluctant to do so, but did pull back.  Mycroft found himself lifted entirely off the bed, suspended in the air.  Tentacles supported him in a dozen different places, leaving him feeling oddly weightless.

With a distinct air of triumph, they got the pants all the way down his legs and off, flinging them into the air.  Another tentacle caught them deftly and retreated back inside the glass enclosure.  Mycroft chuckled.  “Keeping souvenirs?”

A tentacle brushed his lips, shushing him.  He accepted it back into his mouth and lapped at it.  They felt like hands all over him now, more hands than he could count.  Stroking along his arms and chest, dancing over the inner curve of his elbows and the thin, tender skin of his wrists.  One coiled in his palm and twined about his fingers, lingering at the sensitive tips.  More eased up his legs, teasing the fine hairs there, wandering almost lazily to his inner thighs.  Two of them teased his chest, finding the shape of his ribs and the ticklish place just below his sternum.  They lingered there until he laughed and squirmed, and then they relented, only to make him squirm again as they flicked over his nipples. 

They grew slippery, a faint sheen of oil beading on their surface and leaving shiny trails on his chest.  The tips flattened, then cupped over his nipples, sucking at him.  The warm, wet surface felt like a mouth without the hardness of teeth and Mycroft moaned, pushing his hips up.  Two thick tentacles curled under his arse, holding him suspended there easily, like a sling.  A thinner one trailed more warm slickness along the cleft.

“Teasing,” Mycroft mumbled around his mouthful.  “You’re feeling playful tonight.”

In response, a tentacle wound around his cock in a firm spiral and stroked him, gliding over his skin on a thin layer of oil.  Mycroft shuddered and pushed up into the pressure.  His legs were carefully spread, more tentacles propped below his knees and thighs, holding him in place.  The slippery probing behind his balls moved upward, lapping at him, like an impossibly long and flexible tongue licking at his rim.  He tried to arch back into the touch but his ankles were lifted off the bed now and he had no leverage.  He could only hang there as the tip teased and stroked him, sliding just barely inside and then curling back to cup his balls and roll them.

“Come on,” Mycroft panted, and sucked harder at the one in his mouth.  “Oh, oh, come on, I want.”

A thin, slippery tendril probed and lapped at his cock, darting over the slit and then prodding ever so slightly inward.  It stroked over the glans and teased the foreskin, and then a thicker band applied suction to his whole length.  It undulated around him, like being swallowed deep into a smooth, tight throat, and Mycroft cried out.  He strained and writhed against the tentacles holding him up, confident they could keep their grip with no trouble.  His legs were pushed a little wider, and finally there was firm pressure easing in, hot and dripping with oil.  It curled and thickened within him, moving into a spiral shape, twisting and pressing in unexpected ways.

The tentacle in his mouth began to exude more of that oil; it had a stronger lemon taste, filling his mouth with a sweet tang.  He swallowed it and felt the first rush of it go straight to his head.  His skin grew heated and even more sensitive, and his cock throbbed with a deep curl of pleasure.  The one stroking inside him found his prostate and rubbed over it with precise aim.  It had learned early on exactly what made Mycroft thrash and moan and this was no exception.  He whimpered encouragement and sucked harder.  His eyes were closed, his breath coming in rapid pants around the tentacle in his open mouth. 

Around his cock, ripples formed and cascaded up and down in waves.  The slick heat and suction kept up but it stroked him at the same time, little feelers on the inside rubbing at the fraenulum and sliding the foreskin around the head with maddening twists.  The tentacle in his arse thickened and pressed more firmly against his prostate.  It went wet and hot, like a mouth licking at him from the inside, rapid flicks across the sensitive gland.  The two on his chest lapped at his nipples and tugged them into tingling points, then circled them with warm, soft touches.  Even more stroked him: his inner thighs, the soles of his feet, the curved arch of his throat, the backs of his knees.

“Oh,” Mycroft gasped, shuddering and rocking in their grasp.  “Oh, oh yes, I’m so… oh I’m going to, oh please, so good, ah…”

Everything squeezed and pressed just a little bit harder and Mycroft threw his head back and shouted wordlessly as he came.  The one around his cock absorbed it, soaking it up eagerly, and the one pressing inside him kept up the rhythm, squeezing pulse after pulse of impossible pleasure out of him.  Mycroft could feel it everywhere, over every bit of his skin, and he was suspended entirely off the bed, wrapped in its embrace, back arched as his body bowed with orgasm. 

He came until he was helpless and shivering, every muscle trembling, and he made a soft pleading sound.  It let him go, unwinding from his cock and gently slipping out of him.  The one in his mouth stayed, and it was comforting; he sucked on it absently as he drifted down.  The tentacles surrounding him were like a cloud now, a thousand tiny points of sensation, holding him so perfectly suspended that he felt like he was floating in a pool of warmth.  One stroked his cheek and he leaned into it; another squeezed his chest and he put his arm on top of it.  He was dazed and sleepy and utterly content.

One by one, the tentacles let him go, until he was deposited on the bed.  Lying on the mattress felt strangely flat and hard after the experience of being cradled by so many touches.  Mycroft felt himself turned on his side, and a warm layer of tentacles pressed up behind him.  Two banded across his chest, and a soft tip pressed at the side of his neck: a kiss.

“Mmm,” he said, smiling.  “You’re learning.”

Another tentacle, smooth and dry now, ruffled through his hair.  They rocked him, and expanded, then contracted; it made Mycroft think of a sigh.  He stroked the ones across his chest.  “I know,” he said.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll take you out again tomorrow, I promise.”

It squeezed him again and then disentangled, drawing away.  One long strand lingered to brush across his lips, and the caught it in one hand, pressing a kiss in return.  He turned on the bed and watched them all retreat into the glass enclosure.  Rolling to his feet on slightly shaky legs, he followed.  He leaned close enough to let one caress his cheek.  “Good night,” he said.  Then he used the hand scanner to close the glass. 

The wood panel and the picture followed, and soon it looked like a perfectly ordinary wall again.  He padded naked across the room to flip the keypad on the desk closed, then shut the drawer.  He stretched and sighed, rubbing a hand lazily over his chest.  The oil was sticky when it dried, and he smelled of lemons and sex.  He grinned and wandered off to take a shower.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Scylla](https://archiveofourown.org/works/506798) by [Katzedecimal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal)




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